And so fell the little king
by FiresFromOurHearts
Summary: Prompt: Write about getting caught in the rain I thought about Regulus. I thought about marching to your death. I thought about what peace could be and how he walked forward - did he accept his death? Was he resigned to it? What was he thinking? Who are you Regulus Black? I don't know if I answer any questions or just create more questions, but I did write something.


**Assignment for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments), which is a really cool forum thingy. I'm still new to everything, so hopefully, I haven't stuffed up terribly.**

Prompt: Write about getting caught in the rain

 **I felt like writing about Regulus and the rain, and then it turned out into this long thing, which didn't talk about the rain as I wanted to but mentioned it? Does that still work? I mean, I did - technically - write about getting caught in the rain, although getting caught up in the rain might be a better way of putting it. I wanted to talk about the beauty of rain and the peace of it, but Regulus wasn't at peace and while he enjoyed the rain, he didn't want to speak of it - it wasn't important for him, I guess. Fair enough, too; I probably wouldn't be caring too much about the rain in his situation.**

* * *

The night you choose to die – not that you know it yet – is when it rains. It's 1979 and it's a year contaminated with war, a year of families torn apart in their struggles to stay true to themselves and their morals. You are alive during this time, and it is a terrible time to be alive.

You are not alone, here, for the day of your death. To be honest, you know the details about death, so many disgust you, but you know the important parts – you know the way the body cools, the way it stiffens, you know the way eyes glaze over, the way the spark of magic disappears, the way they stop fighting, you know how their names haunt you, you know how their faces blur and change to look like yours, you think that you would die before you killed a family member, you know you would be killed for thinking such a thing. You do not know how it feels, do not know what it is like to die, but you do know how it feels like to be lost – you guess it's going to feel a little like that.

You might not die. This might not be where you breathe your last. It certainly won't be your last stand, because you aren't here to fight. There is no enemy here for you to stun before leaving, before hiding away and trying your best to forget.

You are here for one reason. You are here to take something. You aren't taking anything back, because nothing here was yours in the first place. You are here to steal because someone is trying to cheat death, because someone – who you had bothered to worship – did something unspeakable. You are here, because there is one good thing in your life and someone dared try to kill him. You are a Slytherin, and a scorned Slytherin is an enemy no one wants to make for reasons.

"Master Regulus?" Your companion asks softly, voice pulling you from your musing. "Are we not going tonight?"

You look out from beneath your meagre shelter. The rain is coming down stronger now, and it could be a reason to put everything off. Except… you have put this off long enough, waiting for almost a week and a half to be sure that nothing has changed.

"We are," you eventually say, voice barely above a whisper and almost unheard above the sound of the pouring rain. "I…" you trail off and feel strangely inadequate, it is not a feeling you are used to. You do not trail off, you do know what you are going to say before you say it. You are better than this.

This is not easy.

Your shoulders relax with a sigh, you would say something about an invisible weight resting on them, but you are not here for dramatics – you are not dramatic. "If you don't mind, I would like to wait a bit longer," you say, and this is something strange, you are waiting not because it will help you reach your goal, but because you want to, because you want to pause. You are listening to your emotions here, but your heart led you here, so perhaps it is fitting. "The rain is beautiful."

"I do not mind at all, Master Regulus," the house-elf returns, "Anything that lets you be at ease." You give a small smile to the creature, which you shouldn't be friends with, which shouldn't be your only companion, but this is how your world works. There is an argument hidden beneath the house-elf's last statement, but you are – not tired, exactly – almost peaceful, and this argument has already been heard, been argued, multiple times. You are not backing down.

You step out into the rain, because there is no reason not to. The water instantly weighs down your clothes, drenching you and turning the material dark. Kreacher raises his hand, but you shake your head, and Kreacher's magic does not remove the water from your clothes and keep you dry. You think about saying something – maybe _let me have this._ Nonetheless, you are not dramatic, and there is a silence here that makes you feel almost at peace.

If you had ever been poetic or even had a way with words, you would say something about the rain and its beauty. You are not poetic nor have you ever had a way with words, you just know how to blend into the background and remain quiet so that no one ever notices that he can only hide things when he isn't directly asked. Thankfully, people tend to ignore you when they dismiss you as useless and weak.

Drenched and soaked, and you cannot find it within you to care. You tilt your head to the sky and close your eyes, your hood slipping back. The rain plasters your hair to your head and it drips down your neck, and trails down beneath your clothes. It's cold and startling; it grounds you.

There's something great to be found here, something wondrous. You would call it magic, except magic is curses and hexes and jinxes and nothing but pain in body, in heart, in spirit. It's not awe inspiring, because power is awe inspiring and there is not power to be found here. It's something that defies words, defies anything you can describe, which means it's all probably wrapped up in emotions – and you've always had a problem with those.

Rain has always been special to you. The outdoors have always been your brother's – who didn't love you enough to stay but loved his friends enough to leave – and your father has always had his office, and your mother has always been about parties, and you found your solace in the quiet of the rain that lashed out but never on purpose, you found your peace in the storm's thunder and lightning. There had never been a connection between you and the rain; you just had been standing one day in the clear sky, and then it started pouring down and everyone had been running to get to shelter – and you, you had just stood there and found it calming.

You stand, calm and think there is something like acceptance thrumming in your veins, or maybe it is adrenaline, or maybe something else because it could be spite, could be peace, could be hope. There are so many things it could be and you know you're going to walk into that cave – but you know what you're going to think about. You know. It isn't going to be about spite or murder or war or families torn apart. It's going to be about a friend harmed. It isn't penance or redemption or retribution. It's about you and you being wronged.

You take a step forward, and you leave the rain behind you. You leave the world behind you. You leave a family that doesn't want you, a family that doesn't love you, a family that used you time and time again. You move forward and this isn't something you're doing for you, because while everything _(nothing)_ has been for you; this is for a friend injured and left to die.

The raindrops trickle down your skin, sink into your clothes, and plaster your hair to your head. Head held high, you walk forward, and you leave the water behind.

You do not that you walk to your death. You do not know you are walking towards the water. You do not know that you will die drowning, mouth open in a scream that will kill you. You do not know, and you walk into that cave with the rain pounding down around you. If you had known beforehand… you would have gone in anyway, because you had a friend that was left to die.

* * *

 _One of the brightest stars  
in the night sky.  
One of the brightest stars  
of the lion in the sky._

 _Stars are for those who look to the sky  
and you are not one of them.  
Stars are for those who have time  
and for those who think of better things._

 _You are not the weakling they think  
and you are not unloved either.  
You are not the person you think  
and you are not made from lies either._

 _You go into a cave  
and you reason that it is for  
one harmed and for  
one left to die._

 _You go into a cave  
and you plan to bring someone down.  
You know death is a possibility  
and yet you go anyway._

 _Have you heard of the little king?  
He who had one companion,  
and he who went into a cave  
but not alone._

 _If you have heard of the little king,  
then you must know the truth.  
Two walked into that unknown cave,  
but only one left alive._

 _There was a storm,  
and it poured,  
yet he walked forward anyway.  
And so fell the little king._

* * *

Author's note:

I was trying to write more about the rain because of my prompt, but Regulus didn't really feel like getting caught in the rain and his mind - and my hands - just took us elsewhere. I found out that sometimes I enjoy writing in second person, but only for short things and I just let myself ramble on and on. I've been trying my hand at it for some of my originals back over on Wattpad, and it's fun, but also weird sometimes because I never know where anything's going to go.

So, what did people think of this? I really want to know. I hope I manage some reviews... It would be nice.

Also, my last line 'and so fell the little king', I'm constantly feeling like I plagiarised this from somewhere but google is giving me nothing, so it could be something I made up? I'm not sure. It's odd. I would like to know if anyone else has heard of it? I've been wondering for a few months now, but the phrase has always been bouncing about in my head and I never know from where it comes.


End file.
